


An Orchestra of Fine China

by unoriginal_platypus



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e01 Apéritif, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Metaphors, Musical Instruments, Not Beta Read, Obsessive Hannibal Lecter, Or instruments, Vignette, We Die Like Men, and yet i write this anyway, creation and destruction, i don't understand music, i guess, teacups, that breakfast scene, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:26:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unoriginal_platypus/pseuds/unoriginal_platypus
Summary: The words came out smoothly, over the eggs."I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup, the finest china only used for special guests."The line was calculated, a fishing line in the dark sea that was Will Graham. Hannibal sat composed on his boat,waiting for him to bite./do not be decieved, half of this fic is an overly extended and confusing metaphor about Will because I can't control myself/
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	An Orchestra of Fine China

**Author's Note:**

> so... this is my first work in this fandom so there's that. as you can imagine, characterization may be shaky. it may not. guess you'll have to find out.
> 
> this is written in a kinda weird style, like almost lyrical in some parts? 
> 
> I changed its rating to m because of themes/tone/implied future actions (and i'm going to be honest, t and g die in new) so no violence and sex, sorry
> 
> also this is something that quite literally came to me in a dream, as in I woke up in the middle of the night and wrote the first draft for this. so you can imagine the 0% logic and plot this is based on.
> 
> but yeah i'm not gonna ramble anymore,  
> hope you enjoy!

Alone. Together, they were alone.

Breakfast, before work. Their first meal.  
Will had let him in, reluctantly.  
His jaw was wired tightly shut.

Distasteful, but Hannibal had his means.  
Good food and a little time can do wonders. Conversation began to flow, albeit a bit stilted and cool.  
It was a start.

This was a delicate chase, a lesser man would have grown bored. Coaxing a wary stray from its nest, warm milk in a saucer.

Careful not to lose a finger.

Bit by bit, moment by moment, closer and closer.  
Until Hannibal could get his claws in tight.

It was a delicate chase, a lesser man would have grown bored.  
Not him.

The words came out smoothly, over the eggs.

"I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup, the finest china only used for special guests."

The line was calculated, a fishing line in the dark sea that was Will Graham. Hannibal sat composed on his boat,  
waiting for him to bite.

Will had laughed, leaning back in his chair. His voice was raspy, more of a bark and cough than a chuckle. The tight grin was sardonic.  
He shook slightly, chest twisting,  
it looked almost painful.

Hannibal was delighted.

This memory of Will would be stored away in a corner of his mind, wrapped up neatly, preserved under lock and key.

The laughter stopped abruptly, and there was a short pause. He straightened in his seat.

Will spoke carelessly, voice light, eyes glued to his unfinished plate.

"How do you see me?"

As the morning sun filtered through the drawn curtains, Hannibal could just about make out Will's figure, hazy through the cool darkness of the kitchen.  
Unshaven. Hair unkempt.  
Sweat dried on his nightshirt.

Fear, stale but slowly freshening, seeping from his clothes and skin, its sickly sweet scent melting on the air.

A tentative smile.  
Will shifted in his seat.  
His eyes flicked upwards, catching the light, and for only a moment, their gazes met.

_Blue._

Will was no fine china.  
He was an animal. The mongoose Hannibal wanted under his house when a snake slithers by.

At that moment, mere days after they first met, that was what Hannibal saw. A wild animal.

Now, he knows better.

Will is no stupid beast, no wily pest, no simpering pet.

No.

Will is an instrument, tightly wound and handcrafted.  
There is no polish, no gaudy touchings. This is an instrument raw and high-strung, its croons toeing the line between brilliance  
and insanity.

It is stubborn, purposefully difficult by design, no man could master it with ease.  
Naturally elusive, it’s truly one of a kind, not comparable to any other. Not quite a violin, chello, flute, piano, or guitar. The instrument has its own unique tune, that twists and melds with the flavor of its master.

In the perfect environment, with measured challenge and guidance, and of course, with the right hands to play it, the instrument would be at the peak of its splendor.  
The symphony of the two can be delightful, otherworldly, the purest form of creation.

Mankind's greatest achievement.

And without the comforts of home, left with the torment of its own mind, and with slow or cruel hands pushing it right and left? The symphony would begin, now tragic, pitiable, deceitful. And then, as it would create,  
it would destroy.

Its tightly bound strings, poised in wait, would snap in two. The wood would twist and bend, the metal would tear and screech. And the bow would creak and crack, stabbing through the foolhardy musician, its faux master.  
Rising up, tearing its voice apart in a last, monstrous crescendo, the instrument would fall into pieces.

A beautiful, horrible instrument. William Graham.

Hannibal smiled.  
The scene melted away behind his eyes, his office forming itself back into place.  
The clock struck 5:30.  
Warm afternoon sunlight drifted through the room, a golden den.  
In the hallway, a small scuffle, the sound of shoes on a hardwood floor. A pause, then a deliberate knock at the door.

Hannibal rose to his feet, patting down his jacket, smoothing and adjusting, walking in measured steps to the threshold.  
The door swung open.

He could see it now, the stage, the lights, the hum of the crowd.  
The nervous tension of the orchestra, sitting at attention, the conductor beginning to direct.

Hannibal found his fingers resting just so on the instrument's slim neck, excitement bubbling just below the surface.

Under his care, Will would transform into a truly unforgettable masterpiece.

**Author's Note:**

> eeeee so you read it... thank you thank you thank you!!
> 
> if you feel so inclined, a comment would be oh-so greatly apreciated  
> lul  
> But really, you can insult me, compliment me, or criticize me. I'll respond.


End file.
